


Secret Meetings, Different Affairs.

by WaldosAkimbo



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Creampie, Gabriel POV, Ineffable Bureaucracy (Good Omens), Masturbation, Oral, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-07-12 10:35:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19944757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaldosAkimbo/pseuds/WaldosAkimbo
Summary: There is an empty apartment where Gabriel and Beelzebub meet to discuss "things." It seems, after the thwarted Armageddon, that they are beginning to remember some things from before The Fall. They also rip off each others clothes and go at it, so there's that.





	Secret Meetings, Different Affairs.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my girlfriend for a good portion of this and for accidentally dragging me into the Gabriel/Beelzebub pairing.

The room is bare besides the carpet, the dingy yellow wallpaper, the window that overlooks the busy street below. Neither of them knew you had to furnish the things. It is a “base of operations” of sorts, whenever they thought it necessary for a new location to meet. At first. Surely, that was what they had both put down on their request forms.

Gabriel sits on the floor. It’s not exactly comfortable, but it’s fine. Then he laid down and closes his eyes. He could worry about rumpled suits and slacks in a moment. For now, he smells the mildew, the sour mold, the creaky groan of an earth that continues on despite their best efforts. And, yes, they had put in their best efforts. Without a doubt. Clear as day, on paper, in triplicate.

He wonders idly if both sides had been going about this the wrong way. It had been all about the War. That’s it. 6000 years. And now…?

_Are you coming up?_

There’s a heady buzz vibrating through his skull, a violent swarm of biting flies before they dull to a gentle hum.

_Now?_

_If you want._

_Thatzzzz not how you’re zzzzuppozzed to put it._

_If you want_ , Gabriel repeats, already smiling to himself when he hears a huff and the connection clicks off same as a human cellular phone might. He touches his hand to his chest and waits by tapping it in a beat one might consider as familiar as a heartbeat.

_I don’t know what to wear._

Gabriel chuckles and folds his hand behind his head, making a pillow with his own limbs.

_Wear what you always wear._

_It’zzzz not…. Listen. Azzzmodeus gave me orange and brown polka dotted pantzzz and blue and green stripes shirtzzzzz._

_Why?_

_Can’t figure it out. I don’t know much about human fashion, but I know it’zzzz not that. Give me…._ And Gabriel’s head buzzes again before it goes still and silent. He decides to cross his legs at the ankles and listen to some music warble in through the very thin walls. Someone outside is playing some horrible gnash of sounds. If he knew the term, he might even call it _bebop_.

It is fifteen minutes and thirty-seven seconds before Beezlebub climbs with hellish delight out of the floorboards, the carpet scratched apart like an open wound, making the floor hiss and pop with magma. They swallow up the damage just as soon as they step out, dressed in their usual wear. They tug down their dingy waistcoat and arch an eyebrow.

“What are you doing down there?”

Their soft blue eyes bore through him and he goes up to his elbows.

“Waiting,” he answers evenly. “How was playing dress up? Why’s Asmodeus giving you clothing to wear?”

They shrug for a reply. Gabriel reaches with one hand and they come closer to take it, straddling him for a seat instead of going to the carpet. Gabriel holds onto their hips, so they don’t slide anywhere as he sits up enough, his mouth nearly ghosting their throat in the moment.

“He’s got a crush on you?”

“He’zzzzz got a crush on _everyone_ ,” they say as one of their little minions’ zips around their head. “The very definition of putting in the effort.”

“I bet.”

Gabriel toys with the big metal clasp near their throat. It would be easy to rip free, not just because he’s an angel, but because the ribbons tacked to it are as moldy as the room. Part of him wonders about the faint clash of steel and the tight feeling in his jaw, like he means to rip Beelzebub’s throat clean out. Another part wonders at golden sunlight and butterflies and soft, soft, soft touches from so very long ago. Anytime they get a chance, now, after the world didn’t end, if he can have a taste, these memories come back to him like secret messages slipped under his door.

“We need furniture,” Beezlebub says, letting Gabriel touch the medallion.

“Why?”

“In case the _hu_ manzzz in _spect_ us.”

“They wouldn’t.”

“In case the former Demon Crowley and hizzz—”

“They _wouldn’t_ ,” Gabriel says more firmly. “So far, they’ve just been…. I don’t know, they’ve been _galivanting_ off with each other. They keep driving to the countryside.”

Beelzebub takes Gabriel’s hand and surges forward, their cheek next to his cheek, fine tiny hairs bristling his skin from the wild black mess atop their head.

“They….” Beelzebub stops as suddenly as they had started. They put a hand on his throat and begin to sniff, jerking Gabriel’s face away to get to the center of his neck, down towards his chest. “You zzzzzzzmell,” they growl.

Gabriel blinks. He is keenly aware that Beelzebub has a grip on him where they could snap his neck.

“Like…another _angel_ ,” they spit.

Gabriel blinks again.

Previously, Gabriel had been in the head office with the rest of the archangels. They had been discussing future plans to bring about the _correct_ way of things and Uriel at the time was in a bit of duress. He knew hugging to be a sort of comfort and it was deemed appropriate to embrace briefly. They were not strictly prohibited from touching, just that it happened a lot less than one might assume for the mighty Kingdom of Heaven.

“Perhaps,” he answers, feeling tingly across his scalp.

“ _Why_?” they snap. Beelzebub squeezes his jugular, sniffing down Gabriel’s body, pulling and pushing him as needed. They get close to his belt and yanks it open. Gabriel swallows his short shout of disapproval, not that he is unhappy with how this encounter is going, just that he doesn’t want them to break his slacks. He likes this pair. Quite a lot, actually.

“I hugged them,” Gabriel says, swallowing again. “Nothing more.”

Beelzebub sits up only to pull on the strings of his scarf right next to his clavicle. “Is that so?”

“Bee,” Gabriel whispers, reaching for their strangely powdered face. They had bothered to clean themselves before coming up. Just for him, if he can assume from context.

“You smell all over, you sonovabitch.” They smack his hand out of the way and yank on his scarf again, their noses touching. “You belong to _me._ ”

Something like molten lead drags down his spine, igniting like a piece of magnesium in his stomach. He ignores their snarl to cup their cheek.

“I do?” And then, seeing a sparkle in their eye, perhaps fear, perhaps recognition, Gabriel rubs his thumb across their warm skin. _Butterflies. Golden, new, breathed to life in the sacred space of hands that learn to be fists, that learn to grip right now, right now next to his throat._ “What do you want?”

“I want to cut their zzzmell off you.”

“W…. What?”

“I don’t know. I’m mad with you.”

Beezlebub begins tearing at Gabriel’s clothing. He cranes his neck, so they can steal his scarf, tossing it with a little angry grunt over their shoulder. The jacket almost tears at his shoulders, so he lifts his hands. The turtleneck goes soon after. “ _I_ want to zzzmell you. Get your pants off.”

Gabriel remains quiet, oddly complacent to this bastard Prince of Hell. He bucks his hips up enough to get his pants down to his knees, all while watching them. They take his underpants down too, ripping them off his ankles, pushing all the clothing away like a dog with their feet. He doesn’t relax back, still propped up on his hands as they press in close. A sniff here and there, trailing down his stomach. Gabriel closes his eyes and allows this strange exploration until, after a moment where they have exhausted a stretch near his hip, they finally sit back up.

“You are…alright,” they mumble and look away, secretly pleased that the strange angel hadn’t touched him beneath his clothes.

Beezlebub moves. They’re going to get up, so Gabriel grabs them quickly before they turn away. He snags the back of their head, ignoring the little prickly legs of the fly sitting guard, and kisses them. Beezlebub stiffens, gasps uselessly for someone who has never needed to breathe, until they begin to move and kiss him back. He grips their wrist briefly and guides it back up to his shoulder, hoping the next will follow. Surprisingly, they are as compliant as he was as he tempts them, licking into their mouth.

It’s easier, now, to grab their hips and hoist them up. They could weigh as much as a dust, as the soiled earth beneath them, as the center of a dying star. He stands easily and slams them against the ugly wallpaper. Their head snaps back against the plaster and comes forward, nearly biting his tongue. Gabriel does not let go, nor does he stop kissing them.

He couldn’t.

He won’t.

He can’t.

Beezlebub shivers, having thought enough to wrap their legs around Gabriel’s hips as they are maneuvered upwards. It is nothing beautiful or graceful, as angels must be. Should be. Are. And it is not that demons have dragged him down to the mundane and the ugly, it’s that he’s so desperate for them that he cannot bother with the soft and simple and pointless. They rock against him, spurning him to get on with whatever display this is they’ve started.

“ _Gabriel_ …Gabriel.” They lean back flat against the wall. “Fuck you,” they whisper in a way one might interpret as _lovingly_.

Gabriel drags his lips down to their cheek and begins to rip at their shirt with a free hand. He is less kind than Beelzebub was in that a few buttons fly off and plink noisily to the floor. It should be muted, but, alas, they were the ones who went and ripped up the carpeting.

“Who do I belong to?” he whispers towards their throat. His whole head is signing with that fervent buzzing sound, enough that it feels close to the flagrant rush of air from falling.

“Me,” they answer, barely audible. “You belong to _me._ ”

He manages to tear their shirt open completely before he goes for their pants, working them down hastily. Instead of watching his handiwork, Gabriel presses his teeth to their jaw, leaving open-mouthed kisses. “Who was that?”

“Me!” They squeeze their legs tighter, digging their grubby nails into his sun-speckled shoulders. “You’re mine!”

Gabriel yanks their pants down to the middle of their thighs, since they were already wrapped around him so nicely. He reaches between them and grips himself, tugging hard. Soft, wet sounds work through his throat as he jerks himself, keeping Beelzebub aloft with one arm. He groans and grunts against their shoulder, shaking with effort, getting lost in the dark, the swirling, the forgotten. Beelzebub’s mouth goes slack at the display, more feeling than watching.

“Gabriel,” they whisper. He kisses frantically at the crease of their neck, waiting for a touch of a spark of memory at their touch, now chasing after it almost like a drug.

The faded gold ripples at the back of his mind. A whole day springs forth, born anew, with laughter pulling them inwards.

_Beelzebub fell back into bed as they were given a full day over to love. Creation had nearly seen seven whole days and exhaustion had not set in, but a nice reprieve was always welcomed, even with God hard at work. There had been some singing and some dancing and some angels beginning to question. It was the only thing Gabriel and Beelzebub did not agree on, but it was so new so as not to think too long on it. Tomorrow, yes. Tomorrow, they could potentially suffer consequences, but consequences were not born yet. Not today._

_“I don’t see why we shouldn’t question the Word. We are to quest for knowledge, yet God doesn’t seem to want us to question Her creations or what She intends to create at all. We’re helping, aren’t we? Shouldn’t we have any input if we are to watch over these new…what are they calling them?”_

_“I heard they’d be called Hu Mans,” Gabriel answered, dropping next to them and displacing a golden curl off their forehead. “And, besides, we aren’t meant to ask.” He shifted, hoisting Beelzebub up into his lap. Several little twinkling lights flapped their brand-new wings around them, golden sweet in melody and appearance. “We’re built to serve. Let me serve you already, love,” he teased, nipping at the shell of their ear._

_“I can’t see the harm in a few questions. Just a few.” But they laughed anyways and turned to kiss Gabriel. “I love you. I could serve you for a change, if you want. Your tongue is wonderful, but mine can be just as sweet.” They stuck out their tongue, as though to prove a point._

_Gabriel grinned and kissed them, pushing their tongue back into their mouth with his own. He rolled with them on the cloud-bright bedding, having breathless fun with each other. For eternity, if all went well._

The world goes cold and blue as he pulls back to it. He comes between them, splattering hot on both their skin. It’s unnecessary, but he breathes hard, his chest demanding action to break up the rock of pain threatening to spear him clean through. He breathes, and they breathe, holding the side of his head as he lets himself go, slowly smearing his seed around on their sun-starved skin. Once it glowed. Once they both glowed. Now, damp, pale, still inviting. He swipes a mess up onto his fingertips and pushes two fingers between their legs.

An uncustomary blush ignites up from Beelzebub’s collar. They scramble for purchase and dig trenches near the delicate membrane where his wings should be, currently hidden. If they broke him open, would he mind?

“We need a bed,” they say, their voice wavering with effort. He tucks in so nicely against them, using his arms and legs to bounce them on his fingers. He nods, not yet recovered enough to speak. “The floor. P… _pleazzze_.”

They could drop and suffer no broken bones, no broken skin, no bruises. He helps them down, sinking to the floor in a sweaty heap. Without prompting, Beezlebub arches backwards to the floor, pressing a flat palm to the wall. Gabriel chases them, not yet done, nuzzling their free hand first, their face twisting away just so. It is very easy to plant kisses down their chest. He follows a lazy line down their ribcage, pausing to tease one of their nipples with his tongue.

This earns him a solid smack to the back of his head.

“That tickles,” they say mutely.

Gabriel rests his forehead to their stomach as the sting wears off quickly.

“Noted,” he answers carefully, his voice a rasp, a ghost of its former timbre. He kisses beside their nipple and decides to give them a very light bite, testing the waters.

“Harder.”

“Hmm?”

“ _Bite_ me,” Beelzebub snaps. Gabriel immediately sinks his teeth into their skin. They yelp and moan, their skin vibrating like all the swarms they have ever mastered. They smack Gabriel’s face again, hard enough to make a red after image roughly in the shape of their palm. “On your back.”

Gabriel moans, too, his eyes winced shut. He pulls off and licks their abdomen in apology. Is it strange it doesn’t bleed? Is it strange it’s black stone underneath? No. No, no, but he still kisses the wound shut.

“On your back,” they say again.

Beelzebub pushes him away until he spreads out for them, reaching for them to follow him to the floor.

“Next time.” Gabriel looks up at them as they crawl carefully up his chest, their knees planted firmly on either side, nearly squeezing in on his ears. “You’ll find us a bed.”

“I will,” he answers. He looks at the slick mess still dripping down their soft stomach, making the wiry black hair that trails down look stark and shiny. He reaches up, but they pin his hands to the ruined floor, their fingertips gently teasing his palms before they seat themselves on his face. He opens his mouth and begins to dig with his tongue.

It’s not that the taste is ruined with his seed, but he would have preferred the purest form of them. He suckles all the same, using his chin to push their lips open and noses in so their bush nearly drowns him. Beelzebub begins to rock on his face, an erratic seesaw that takes time to master until he knows when to tilt his head up or down. He finds their clit, swirling it with greedy gulps.

They could break his wrists with how hard they were gripping him. He’d let them, he is certain. Just this one time.

Beelzebub’s hips stutter and stalls. They clamp down hard with their thighs, moaning towards the ceiling, for anyone to see should they wish to, up there, down there, wherever God’s hiding. It doesn’t matter to him. It doesn’t matter to them. They shake with the tremulous thrill of their orgasm, gushing down his slippery face. Then their hips buck up away as they collapse back onto his chest, dropping their head on his thigh with a long, drawn out sigh. Gabriel simply traces their abdomen, a comforting touch.

Not comforting enough, it seems.

Beelzebub rolls up, snatching some fabric off the floor. Gabriel should be upset it’s his jacket, but he finds he doesn’t want to care. He wants their weight returned to his chest, so he waits for them to come back to him only for them to shove the jacket under his head without any finesse. He laughs quietly, making room for them, holding an arm up until they slot themselves next to him. They tuck in so neatly, so perfectly, it’s like they were made for each other. If he closes his eyes, it’s not a dark apartment. If he closes his eyes, it’s not flies buzzing around. Bees, perhaps.

“You stick it in me next time,” they say, tapping his chest.

“Ask nicely,” he answers, wincing when they scratch across his skin. “Alright, alright!”

“Demons don’t ask, angel,” they remind him, their voice the same even tone, perhaps softer, and he can find fondness in there if he looks just right. “But, yes. A bed. And you. I want you.”

“Mm, you do?” He looks at the marks on his chest from them. “Alright, love.”

“Love….” Beezlebub scowls, opting to gently bite his arm as they muse to themselves. “You can’t possibly love me. I am a demon.”

“I have a great capacity for love, I’m told. Being an angel,” Gabriel answers, oddly enjoying the tactile sensation of their teeth on his skin.

“But. Where was your love when God drowned the humanzzzzz?” That had been a day. Hell was soggy with all the lost souls sent their way. “Or wazzz that just…Godzzzzz will?”

“I mean…God gave them a rainbow, so….”

“Mmm. The violence happening outside our window. Godzzzzz will? The Demon Crowley and hizzz… _Angel_.”

“Shut up.” Gabriel’s throat clicks with the effort to smother his anger. “You’re pushing me away.”

“Protecting you,” they whisper, snuggling in again. “I saw too…in the cloudzzzz. …Us.”

He closes his eyes the same time as they do. They won’t speak of it further. Not now. But they can wonder. They might be able to question, even. It’s a strange world, after all. A strange, new world. One where angels and demons might lay in an empty room, breathing, hearts hammering strangely in their chests, figuring out exactly how to sleep in each other’s arms.


End file.
